


Bloodbath, Aftermath

by SolivagantStories



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: ACTUALLY NEVERMIND NOV 16 HAPPENED AND MY DREAM CAME TRUE, Character Death, Dream is regretful, Eret is the king of nothing, Every ‘villain’ is morally grey in this household, Family Feels, Found Family, Gen, He cares about Tubbo, Honestly he just needs a power nap, Hurt No Comfort, Insane Wilbur Soot, It’s just what I do, Niki needs more appearances in fanfics, Or at least more love in general, Schlatt is a morally grey villain fight me, Techno is a farmer in this, Tubbo’s conflicted, WELP THIS IS EXTREMELY AU, at least mostly, except the family is lost again because I enjoy suffering, lotsa peeps die, no beta we die like l’manberg, there’s a tiny bit of comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:15:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26961250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolivagantStories/pseuds/SolivagantStories
Summary: “We’re going to die, aren’t we?”Tommy’s heart stopped. He choked, eyes burning from more than just the smoke.“No, no, don’t say that Tubbo,” he murmured, voice soft, “Think of it as our next adventure together, one where we’re side by side. And I’ll have to tolerate you, even though you’re a pain.”——————————————————Or, in which Wilbur succeeds in blowing up Manberg, killing many in the process. The world reacts.
Relationships: Everyone x Pain, Everything’s Platonic
Comments: 162
Kudos: 1146





	1. Chapter 1

Tommy held Tubbo in his arms, ignoring the searing pain in his legs. Fire burned on all sides, with no way of escape. He buried his nose in his best friend’s hair, trying not to inhale the smoke. Trying to pretend they were okay. 

“...Tommy?”

He paused. 

“Yes, Tubbo?” 

Tubbo shifted in his arms, whimpering under his breath ever so quietly. His suit, the one Tommy always hated seeing on him, was torn beyond repair. 

“We’re going to die, aren’t we?” 

Tommy’s heart stopped. He choked, eyes burning from more than just the smoke. 

“No, no, don’t say that Tubbo,” he murmured, voice soft, “Think of it as our next adventure together, one where we’re side by side. And I’ll have to tolerate you, even though you’re a pain.” 

Tubbo chuckled, but it quickly turned into a wheeze of pain. He winced, trying to breathe amid the smoke. Tommy did all he could, murmuring as his best friend shook in his hold. After a moment Tubbo stopped shaking, smiling weakly. 

“I’d like that a lot,” he said, a small grin that Tommy hadn’t seen in oh so long gracing his features, “You know, I wanted to run away with you so badly. Maybe now... Maybe now we can.” 

Tommy ignored the tears that were spilling down his cheeks. Ignored the flames that were crawling ever higher, ignored the rubble pinning him and Tubbo to the ground. Instead he cuddled closer, pain wracking every inch of his body. 

“Do you think...,” Tubbo said, after a moment of silence, “Do you think that everyone will be there with us?” 

Tommy thought for a moment. 

Who was left? Not Eret, who’d run away to his kingdom, not Fundy, who’d betrayed them. Not Nikki, who had been forced into running with Eret, screaming all the while. 

That left one. 

“Maybe Techno’ll be there,” Tommy murmured, chest aching, “Maybe he’ll help us start a potato farm, one of his epic ones that people have written poems about.” 

Tubbo smiled again, and Tommy counted that as a win. 

“Maybe,” he conceded, voice even softer than before. Blood was pooling beneath them both, making thinking hard and their fingers sticky. 

“Y’know,” Tommy said, suddenly desperate, “I’ve always cared about you. I’ve always cared about you so, so much, Tubbo. I’m sorry for being a jerk.” 

Tubbo shook his head, even though it seemed to take all of his remaining strength away. 

“I always knew that that was your way of showing affection,” Tubbo said, “And I’d... I’d be lying if I said it never hurt... but I know you’re not perfect. Being perfect isn’t in the best friend job description.” 

Tommy sobbed, blood coating his lips as he gagged. He wailed, suddenly hit with the realization that this was it. This was his death. 

Tubbo wrapped a trembling arm around him. 

“Do you know what is?” He asked, voice so quiet that Tommy had to strain to hear. 

“No.” 

Tubbo chuckled again, even as the heat made his eyes water. 

“The only thing I require is for them to be the most awesome alpha male ever,” Tubbo whispered, “Which is you.” 

Tommy sobbed. 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

It is said that Tommy and Tubbo, two best friends who’d grown up within war after war, died smiling.


	2. Technoblade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friendly reminder that these are the fictional character versions of real people! They’re my take on them, so they might be a bit different from what they’re actually like in real life (or at least what they’re like as their online personas). Also, I wrote this before the festival, so Techno is very different, lol.

Techno sat by the fire, hand stroking his blade in an absentminded routine. His eyes darted to every nook and cranny of the cave, subtly watching for someone. He didn’t know who. It was ingrained in him at this point, that constant vigilance. 

Tommy sat beside him, looking like he’d been dragged through hell. His eyes looked sunken, and his hands shook as he ate some of the meat Techno had brought back. He was as silent as a statue. 

Techno couldn’t stop himself from glancing at his companion every so often. His eyes kept getting drawn to how pale the boy was, or how he seemed so tense, as though he was trying to rest in enemy territory. 

As he watched Tommy, Techno regretted going on his supply run. It’d taken longer than he’d originally thought, and something had happened while he was gone. Something big. 

He glanced at the campfire, blinking slowly. 

“...Techno.” 

Tommy’s voice was far too quiet, and a chill ran down Techno’s spine. He watched as Tommy set his food aside, face set in a determined frown. 

“Techno,” he said again, voice louder than before, “Something happened while you were gone.” 

Techno frowned. 

“Well yeah,” he said, deadpan, “I’d have to be blind to not notice the tension between you and Wilbur. Did you get into a sibling spat again?” 

It was probably misplaced, but Techno needed to get a rise out of him. He needed something familiar. 

Tommy growled, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t even roll his eyes in response. Techno sat up straighter, hand tightening around the hilt of his weapon. 

Something was very, very wrong. 

Tommy was annoying. That was a fact of life. Tommy was loud and obnoxious, and he never knew when to shut up. But he also had this sarcastic streak that could match Techno’s own. 

If Techno was being honest, he saw Tommy as the annoying brother type. He could get under his skin, but he never truly hated him. In fact... the kid made him feel something he hadn’t in a long time. 

Tommy turned towards him, no longer facing the fire. 

“I need you to do something,” Tommy said, voice strained. 

Techno nodded slowly. 

“Ookkkay,” he said, wary, “It better not take too long, I just got back.” 

Instead of snarking back like he usually would, Tommy merely bit his lip. His eyes seemed strangely wet, but it could just be a trick of the light. Tommy never cried. He only seemed to get louder when he was sad, which nowadays was more often than not. 

“I need you to leave.” 

The words echoed in the cave. They were so soft, so strange, coming from Tommy. 

Techno had found a home here with him. Sure, Wilbur wasn’t exactly the ideal companion. He was distant. But Tommy. Techno could finally say he had a friend. Even if it was a sixteen year old war torn boy that didn’t have an off switch. 

Techno found that his chest felt strangely hollow. 

“...What?” 

Tommy leaned forward, hands grasping at Techno’s arm. He seemed desperate, and so, so fragile. But there was a determination in his expression that chilled Techno to his core. 

“You need to— You need to leave,” he said, voice quiet, “Wilbur— Wilbur is going to blow up L’Manberg, okay? On the day of the festival. I probably won’t be able to stop him. I know that. But— But I’m going to try.” 

Techno couldn’t think. 

This wasn’t... This wasn’t at all what he’d thought had happened. Of course he’d noticed Wilbur’s steady decline but... He’d hoped it was just stress. Techno himself had had periods like that. Where hope felt lost but you pushed on anyway. 

This... couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t think. 

“And,” he heard his own voice say, “How exactly will me leaving help things? Shouldn’t I try and help you stop him?” 

Tommy smiled up at him, and Techno shivered. It was a small smile, nothing like what he was used to seeing. Tommy was always exaggerated, loud. Even his smiles reflected that. 

The fire crackled lowly, casting shadows on Tommy’s face. They made him look ghastly, otherworldly. 

“You wouldn’t help, Techno,” Tommy said after a moment, “Don’t you see? Wilbur... Wilbur’s already been placing the tnt. He’s ready. And... And the only way to truly stop him now is to— to kill him.” 

Techno’s breath hitched. 

Not this again. 

He’d thought that this would be a simple skirmish. One where he only had to stab a few people, people who were the bad guys, and then go home. Wherever home was. He’d thought all he’d have to do was help Pogtopia from the shadows and then heroically ride in and save them in the last battle. 

It seemed, instead, that he’d be replaying past mistakes. 

“I should do it,” Techno said. Tommy’s eyes flashed, and his face twisted. 

“No!” He hissed, hands tightening around Techno’s arm, “You can’t! I remember what you told me, Techno. I can’t— I can’t let you feel guilty about this too.” 

There was a heartbeat. Then...

“It’s my job,” Tommy whispered. 

Techno could feel his heart breaking. His chest ached. He leaned forward and, for the first time, pulled Tommy in for a hug. 

Tommy whimpered ever so quietly, his face buried in Techno’s shoulder. 

“You know,” Techno murmured, “As annoying as you usually are, I’ve found myself actually tolerating your presence.” 

Tommy snorted. 

“Wow,” he said, voice muffled by Techno’s shirt, “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” 

Techno sighed. He wasn’t good at all this emotional stuff. He felt so drained, so tired. A wave of self loathing and apathy hit him, but he pushed back, trying to smile. 

“I can’t just leave you alone with this, Tommy.” 

Tommy pulled away, eyes suspiciously wet. 

“You don’t understand!” He said, voice cracking, “Wilbur wants to kill you! As soon as he comes back from patrol he’ll try and assassinate you! He’s gone insane, Techno. He thinks you’re going to betray him!” 

Techno froze. 

He would be lying if he said he’d never thought about it. Sometimes he just wanted to go back to his farm and avoid the mess he’d put himself in. But... But he couldn’t just leave Tommy. And now Tommy was asking him to do the thing he’d resisted for so long. 

“Tommy,” he said, voice soft, “Do you really think that Wilbur can kill me? I’m amazing at fighting, you know that.” 

Tommy scowled, scooting away from him. 

“This isn’t the time for your arrogance, Techno!” He growled, “Please, just— I need to know that you’re safe. Wilbur... Wilbur has Dream on his side. Who’s to say— Who’s to say that he doesn’t send him after you?” 

For a moment there was silence. The fireplace crackled, burning low as it slowly lost fuel. 

Techno knew what he needed to do. For Tommy’s sake. 

“Fine.” 

Tommy grinned, smile the largest Techno had seen since he’d left the last time. It was full of relief, and Techno knew he’d made the right choice. 

They were silent for a long moment. Techno tried to capture the sight of Tommy sitting beside him. Tried to burn his bittersweet smile into his memory. 

Then Tommy spoke, voice once again soft. 

“If I fail,” Tommy said, and Techno’s heart stopped, “Will you help me get Tubbo out of Manberg?” 

Techno remembered Tubbo. He’d met the boy only a few times, and each time he’d been wearing a suit. He seemed just as burdened as Tommy, maybe even more so. He was skittish, always talking about how Schlatt would notice he was gone. Techno had never seen him smile. 

Techno nodded. 

He stood, sword at his side and half packed bag swung over his shoulder. He’d never fully unpacked after getting back from his supply run. He was grateful for that now. 

He turned back towards Tommy for a split second, feet feeling heavy as lead. He didn’t want to move. 

“I’ll come back, maybe as a surprise attack or something. Don’t fail,” he said, instead of a goodbye. It was all he could give. 

Tommy nodded, unnaturally small smile still on his face. 

“I can do it,” he said, “I’ll see you in a week, Techno.” 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

There are rumors that Technoblade was spotted in Manberg after the Massacre. They say he held a sword to Wilbur’s neck, his cape flowing in the wild wind left over from explosions. 

They say he was crying, crying like you’d never seen him cry before. That his sword actually quivered from the force of his shaking. 

Many dispute this rumor, saying that if this were true, why is Wilbur still alive? Why is he still ruling his kingdom of ash? 

And somewhere in a far away field a farmer sits beside makeshift graves, wondering if he made the choice his friend would have been proud of.


	3. Eret

Eret felt cold. 

He felt hollow, just like the castle he’d sacrificed his friendships for. He sat alone on his throne, crown a heavy weight on his head. 

Niki lay slumped against a wall nearby, eyes closed. Her hair was a mess, all tangles and knots, and her clothes were wrinkled. She still had dried blood on her face, something she’d refused to let him clean off, no matter how hard he’d tried. Every time he caught sight of her he felt his chest tighten. 

She was the only thing he’d gotten right. Even if she didn’t realize that. 

Eret shifted on his throne, trying to find somewhere comfortable. He knew it was useless, but tried anyway, sighing softly when he finally gave up. The noise seemed far too loud in the room, and Nikki glanced up. 

She looked terrible, like she hadn’t slept in weeks. Eret was sure he didn’t look much better. 

“...Are you ever going to actually do something?” He asked after a moment. 

Nikki didn’t even blink. 

Eret sighed again, numb. He’d been trying for days now to get her to talk to him. She stayed silent every time, and he’d finally resorted to insulting her, no matter how much it made his chest ache. 

Sometimes it was easy to forget she was even there. The castle felt so empty, far too large. 

Sometimes, when he closed his eyes, he could still see snapshots of L’Manberg. He could feel the ghost of a hug from Tubbo, could smell potions brewing as he sat next to Fundy, could hear the clashing of swords as Tommy sparred, yelling all the while. 

Sometimes, when everything felt like it was too much, he couldn’t stop himself from remembering. 

Even before the Massacre, even before Schlatt, Eret had regretted. He’d look at his crown, at his castle, and feel a bone deep bitterness that he knew would never go away. 

His own greed, his own need for stability, had ruined him. 

Long ago, before Dream and L’Manberg, Eret had been nothing but a peasant. He’d had a family. One that had thrown him out one day when it became too hard to feed him. 

He’d understood. He was too expensive, and he wasn’t bringing anything of value home. 

He’d still resented them. 

Then he met Dream, who invited him to live in his kingdom. It was like something out of a book there. It felt unreal, too perfect. Not everyone was wealthy, of course, but no one starved. If you needed something you had a friend that could help you get it. 

Eret grew up with Dream, feeling a comfort he’d never felt before. 

Then Wilbur happened. Then he was thrown back into being one of the lowest, thrown back into scrounging for food and sleepless nights. 

He’d hated it. 

He would see Tubbo cry into Tommy’s shoulder after a skirmish and feel this deep hatred for Wilbur that felt endless. He’d notice Fundy trying to get just a moment of his fathers’ time before being thrown away in favor of a meeting and would see himself in the fox. He’d see Wilbur hunched over late at night, head in his hands, and would wonder what it was all for. 

When Dream came to him again, in a parallel of the kindness he’d been given as a teen, Eret hadn’t hesitated. He’d needed that comforting stability again. He’d needed to be able to breathe. 

He hadn’t cared about the crown. Only what it would give him. 

A home. 

And yet. And yet here he was, with all the money he could ask for. And all he had to show for it was a crown on his head and the deaths of half of his friends. 

Eret watched Niki as she closed her eyes, his own heavy from sleepless nights. He stood, armor that he couldn’t make himself take off clanking from the movement. 

Niki’s eyes flew open at the sound. 

She sprang to her feet, hands grasping for a sword she didn’t have. She looked wild, like an animal cornered. Her breathing was loud enough that Eret could hear her, and he was quick to rush to her side. 

“Ssshhh,” he murmured, not daring to touch her, “Shhh, I’m sorry. I... I shouldn’t have moved so suddenly.” 

She glared up at him, eyes full of so much raw hatred that he took a step back. 

Niki hadn’t forgiven him. He knew that. He’d tried to forget that. 

It wasn’t his betrayal that she hated him for. She hadn’t been there for that. She was too kindhearted to hold a grudge. He could remember a moment, during the Manberg days, when she’d talked to him about it.

No, it was how he’d dragged her away from Wilbur, kicking and screaming. It was how he’d taken her to his castle even as explosions shook the earth. 

It was because he hadn’t allowed her to die. 

Eret watched through his glasses as she turned her back on him, arms wrapped around herself in a mockery of a hug. She shook minutely, and he wished that he could be the one holding her. Wished he could comfort her. 

Instead he was merely the traitor who’d kidnapped her, who she would never find any comfort from. 

“Niki,” Eret said, voice straining, “Please. Please just— Can we please just at least talk? I... It’s not healthy.” 

Niki turned back to him, eyes still sharp. She frowned, biting her lip. 

It was the most emotion he’d seen from her in days. Weeks? 

“Please Niki,” he tried again, “Please just... Why don’t we both clean ourselves up? We can’t just... We can’t just stay stuck in the past.” 

Her eyes flashed. 

“Is that what you told yourself after you betrayed Wilbur? When you damaged his ability to trust so much that he believed I’d stab him in the back at the first opportunity?” 

The silence left after her words was suffocating. 

“...What?” 

Niki walked towards him unsteadily, legs stiff from her position on the floor. 

“You heard me,” she growled, face twisted into a snarl, “You think you’re such a hero since you saved poor pathetic Niki, huh? Well you’re wrong. I didn’t want to be saved.” 

Eret stood frozen, eyes raking in the way she stood before him. Her hands were fists, shaking at her sides, and tears that he hadn’t seen in so long threatened to spill from her eyes. She looked haunted and desperate. He couldn’t move. 

Niki turned towards the castles’ exit without another word. 

Eret jumped back into motion in an instant. He ran after her, something primally desperate writhing in his chest. 

No. He couldn’t be left alone. He couldn’t be alone. 

Not again. 

“Wait, Niki,” he cried, stopping as she stepped outside, hand on the doorframe, “Please don’t go! I’m sorry, I had to bring you here! I just— I couldn’t just do nothing when you were going to die! Please—“ 

Niki faltered, feet scuffing the ground. She flinched at his voice, but didn’t turn back around, hands still shaking at her sides. 

“....I’m sorry Eret. I just can’t.” 

Eret forced himself to look away as she started to walk again, eyes burning. 

He felt so, so cold. 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

No one truly knows the reason for King Eret’s death. Many say it must’ve been the grief. Others say it was an assassin.

His body was found in his bedroom, silent and serene. They say he was clutching a uniform, one so dirty and torn that you wouldn’t be able to tell which kingdom it came from. 

Strangely, his castle was never left empty. Sometimes, if one cared to look, you could see the form of a young girl sitting on his throne, staring at a crown in her hands.


	4. Tubbo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, I know Schlatt’s a villain and stuff but I just really want a mentor dynamic between him and Tubbo, okay? Also, in this AU, he doesn’t know about Tubbo’s... loyalties.

Tubbo pulled at his tie, hands trembling. No matter how much he loosened it it still felt like a noose, tightening more by the second. 

He didn’t want to be here, wearing this suit. He wished he was on the bench, with Tommy, still daydreaming about running away. Instead, he stood on the back of a stage, representing everything that had ruined his best friend. 

Schlatt sighed lowly, patting his shoulder. 

“Stop fidgeting kid, you’ll do fine,” he murmured, eyes still facing their audience, “You’re my right hand man after all.” 

Tubbo chuckled nervously, eyes roaming the crowd. 

Fundy sat near the front, expression unreadable. These days Tubbo could never figure out what he was thinking. Even his ears, normally so expressive, hardly twitched. Next to him, Quackity stared at Tubbo, glare heated enough that Tubbo reached for his tie again. 

Schlatt gently slapped his hand away before stepping forward, tapping the mic. 

“Hello? This thing on?” He asked, voice booming, “Alright. Well, citizens of Manberg! We come together on this fine day to celebrate a new era. An era of peace. Of joy. Without Wilbur, who dragged children into a war, and without his right hand, who instigated it.” 

Tubbo bit his lip as the crowd murmured, catching the eye of Niki. She hovered at the very back, shoulder to shoulder with Eret. She seemed tense, eyes roaming every shadow and corner, as though looking for someone. 

Tubbo knew who. He himself found himself looking for a certain face too, before he could stop himself. Found himself talking to someone who wasn’t there. 

Schlatt paused, waving a hand. 

Tubbo swallowed. Tugging on his tie one last time, he stepped forward. His knees felt weak, wobbly, as he sidestepped the dramatic throne. The murmuring below grew as he fell into step beside the President (emperor?). 

Schlatt cleared his throat, smiling gently as he glanced at Tubbo. His smile was soft, nothing like his dramatic grins during speeches. 

Tubbo felt something within him ache. 

“This is my right hand man, Tubbo!” Schlatt declared dramatically, “Though I’m sure you already know that. He’s been working very hard towards peace, and I’m proud to have him at my side. He’s going to say a few words. Please, listen to what he has to say.” 

And, ever the showman, Schlatt spun on his heel and collapsed onto his throne, legs crossed. Despite everything, Tubbo snorted even as he walked to the microphone. 

He scanned the faces beneath him. Most looked indifferent, bored, though some held a bitterness that made his palms sweat as he adjusted the mic. From the back Niki gave him a subtle nod, and Tubbo tried to smile. 

“Umm, hi, hello,” Tubbo said, voice cracking. He winced, glancing back at Schlatt. 

The man gave him a lazy thumbs up, and Tubbo forced himself not to shudder. 

“I’m Tubbo, like Mr Schlatt said,” he tried again, “And I’ve been here in this land since the beginning. Since... Wilbur was in charge. Back then— Back then every day was a struggle. We came back from skirmishes bloody and lost. I had to patrol borders. I had to kill. I lived through the wars. But I can’t say I enjoyed being there.” 

Tubbo watched as Niki’s encouraging smile faltered, falling into a confused frown. He watched as Eret tensed slightly, hand gripping her shoulder. 

Tubbo’s hands shook. 

He hoped Tommy wasn’t watching. He prayed it as every syllable left his lips. 

But a small part of him wished he was. At least then he would know that he was still alive. That Wilbur hadn’t... 

Tubbo’s legs felt unsteady. He tugged on his tie, trying to breathe. 

“Now that Schlatt is President,” Tubbo said, ignoring the sarcastic call of Emperor from behind him, “Things will be different. I was a child, not even a teen, when I first joined the rebellion. Here you won’t have to worry about your children being forced into war. You won’t have to worry about war in general.” 

A few people in the crowd smiled, and Tubbo couldn’t decide how he felt about that. 

“Because... Because Schlatt and I... We’ll make things better.” 

There. Short and sweet. 

Tubbo stepped back from the mic as the audience exploded into applause. Half of it sounded genuine, and that was enough to make a wave of relief wash over him. Schlatt stood, passing him on his way back to the mic. But not before he pulled him into an awkward hug. 

“Good job, kid.” 

And Tubbo couldn’t decide how he felt. 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

Someone watched the speech from far away, face twisted into a snarl. They couldn’t stand the sight of Tubbo talking on Schlatt’s behalf. Couldn’t bear the way Schlatt watched Tubbo, with some sort of vindictive pride. 

In the distance, something shook the earth, a plume of fire and smoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y’all! This was a small snippet of something I wrote before the rest of this actually. I thought it would fit. Also, if there’s a specific person you’d like to have a chapter, feel free to request! 
> 
> And guess what! Someone drew fanart. Of my fanfic. I might have screamed. It’s on Tumblr by scribbles-ink if you’d like to check it out.


	5. Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Dream is a CHARACTER. He’s obviously not meant to reflect how the real Dream would act. I know you guys know this but better safe than sorry! <3
> 
> Also, just wanted to say that my version of the SMP war is probably way different than canon since I wanted it to work more like real life skirmishes. Stuff like it taking place over long periods of time and when characters met each other is changed. I actually have files full of every major characters’ backstory, that’s how far I went to change the setup. Lol

Dream didn’t know what to think. 

He watched L’Manberg, even as the fire died down. Even as it settled, leaving only ash and crumbled buildings. 

He didn’t know how to feel. 

He’d gotten what he wanted. L’Manberg, that annoying little ‘kingdom’ that held so many people he’d once considered friends. Traitors. It was finally gone. 

If Schlatt hadn’t won the election maybe things wouldn’t have ended so... suddenly. Maybe Dream could’ve slowly made them collapse, drawing person after person back into his kingdom, leaving only a few to survive on their own. 

Instead, he was left with a writhing unsteadiness. He wasn’t happy with the weakness of L’Manberg. 

He wasn’t happy with the way Wilbur lurched through its depths, as though drunk. 

He wasn’t happy with the way George had seemed almost... horrified when he’d learned of the plan. He’d looked at him as though he was the monster. As if he were the villain, and not the traitors who’d decided ‘independence’ was better than being at his side. 

At the very beginning of the wars, so long ago, he’d been blinded by rage. So, so, much rage. Why would they all leave so suddenly? Had he been such a horrible friend? Such a horrible leader? 

He hadn’t allowed himself to show mercy. It was what they deserved, he’d reasoned. 

Over time his rage, and the rage of his actual friends, dimmed. 

And now. Now his last plan to finally get his victory left a bitter taste in his mouth. He shivered minutely from his vantage point, refusing to allow himself weakness. 

It was after dark, now. A few flames still burned, so low that Manberg seemed to be lit from beneath like a pit of hell. It seemed fitting. It was so dark, with red ash and shattered lamps. It was too dark to see the bodies, but Dream knew they were there. 

Dream hadn’t exactly planned for so many to die. Sure, people would get caught up in the crossfire. That was the point. That was what he’d hoped for, in a fit of malicious glee, as he’d scrambled to get Wilbur his tnt. 

But he hadn’t planned on Wilbur not warning the innocent civilians. The ones who didn’t support Schlatt, who just wanted their leader back. 

And now...

Now L’Manberg was a ghost town. 

He’d... He’d hoped that Tommy could at least save a few. Maybe Fundy. Maybe the useless Vice President, whatever his name had been. 

Dream was so lonely. 

He shivered, even though the wind carried pulses of heat from below. 

Sometimes he wondered why he didn’t care. Why sometimes it was so easy to look at death and merely go on with his day. Why George would sometimes hesitate, on the worst days, to even come near him. 

He wondered why it was so easy to justify murdering his friends. 

(Except they weren’t his friends. Had they ever been? They’d left so fast, so eagerly.) 

A hand tapped his shoulder. 

Dream jumped. He stumbled to his feet, pulling his sword out of its sheath and twirled, pinning it against the neck of whoever’d touched him. He blinked. 

George stared back at him, eyes wide and face grim. 

Dream shook as he lowered his sword, suddenly very glad for his mask. He felt so unsteady, nothing like the anticipation of merely hours before. 

“Sorry, I should’ve known not to do that,” George said, voice nothing like his usual teasing tone. 

Dream looked away, back towards the remains of L’Manberg. He was sure George was doing the same. They stood in silence for a moment. It wasn’t peaceful. Nothing could be peaceful with that view. 

Dream thought he could see Wilbur for a moment, a glimpse of his slow shuffling form, before he disappeared. 

“Why did you let this happen?” George asked from beside him, voice firm. There was something sad beneath it, and Dream purposely didn’t look at his face. 

Dream focused on apathy, forcing it onto him like a mask. 

“I thought it would stop things,” he answered, voice steady like it always was, “I was so ready for them to come crawling back to me, weak and outnumbered.” 

Dream thought of Tommy and Tubbo, dead in the midst of a collapsed building. He thought of Fundy, collapsed and bleeding, who’d died from an explosion. He thought of the Vice President, dead from bleeding out on Wilbur’s sword. 

He thought of Schlatt, dead on his half destroyed throne, propped up like a sick trophy. 

He felt like throwing up.

It was his fault. All of it. Every death, every child drawn into war. Every citizen who looked scared to even look at him when he returned to his kingdom. 

“...Dream?” 

George was careful this time, as he laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. He looked so conflicted, and Dream felt even worse. 

He’d drawn his true friends (the ones who hadn’t betrayed him) into battle, had let them kill in his name. He’d had George, kind hearted goofy George, at his side on the front lines. 

And George had followed him, angry at L’Manberg on his behalf. 

Sapnap probably would’ve gone even if Dream hadn’t made them. He had a violent streak that could rival Dream’s, and L’Manberg had definitely gotten the brunt of it. 

That didn’t make him feel any better. 

“I’m so sorry, George,” Dream whispered, apathetic facade cracking. He slipped his mask off, wiping at tears that he’d been holding back ever since he first saw the bodies. Since he first saw old friends dead, because of him. 

George stared. 

“I’m so, so, sorry,” Dream murmured, voice cracking, “I’m so sorry that you’re best friends with a monster. You know what I felt during our wars? Nothing. Every time a frie— a L’Manberg citizen almost died I didn’t care. I’d hoped that they would die. I— I can’t believed it took commiting mass genocide for me to finally—“ 

“Stop.” 

Dream froze. He looked up into George’s eyes, so friendly even as they stood next to evidence of what Dream had done, and felt like wailing. He felt like collapsing to the ground and just... just crying. Like a kid. 

He wiped his tears away as George stared at him, stonily silent. 

He hadn’t cried in so long. 

When had he last cried? Was it when Wilbur rallied his friends against him? Was it when he lost the war? Was it even further than that, back when he wasn’t afraid to feel anything? 

George squeezed his shoulder, gentle like always. He didn’t deserve it. 

“Did you really not care?” George asked, eyes searching. 

Dream huffed. 

“I just said—“ 

“No,” George interrupted, “I know you, okay? You’re not a stone cold killer no matter... no matter how much you’ve done these past years. I wouldn’t be your friend if you were.” 

Dream stared, frozen. He... didn’t understand. 

George groaned softly, hand leaving Dream’s shoulder. He ran a hand through his hair, agitated. 

“Look,” he said, “I’ve known you my entire life. You have these... coping mechanisms. Y’know, like how Sapnap likes to lock himself in his room after something happens? Yeah. Except you lock away your feelings.” 

Dream... Dream didn’t know how to feel about that. Maybe that was proving George’s point. 

“After... After Wilbur and everyone betrayed you,” George continued, plowing forward even as Dream grimaced, “It was the worst I’d ever seen you. You didn’t seem to care about anything. I... I was actually scared of you for a while.” 

Dream winced. His gut twisted even as George backtracked. He waved his arms dramatically, eyes wide. 

“Not.. Not a ton of course!” He said, voice high and squeaky for just a moment, “Just... You were so... angry. I was mad too, of course. And it goes without saying that Sapnap was too... But you only seemed to be able to feel rage. Anyway... what I’m trying to say is... I have this feeling that you cared. No matter how much you hid it.” 

Dream stared at his hands, slightly wet from his tears. They shook, trembling like they hadn’t in a long time. He was usually so sure. So... ready to do what was next needed. He hadn’t hesitated for a long time. 

“I... I don’t know George,” he said, looking up, “That doesn’t excuse anything. I’m still— I still don’t know what to do... I don’t—“ 

George nodded, eyes flicking towards L’Manberg. He twisted his hands together. 

“You can’t... take back what you’ve done,” he said, “but... but you can be better now.” 

Dream didn’t think he’d ever be better. He didn’t think he would ever be able to close his eyes without seeing the death, the wide eyes of people he’d once cared about. He didn’t think he could ever fight again. His sword felt like a heavy weight in his grip, far too dangerous and deadly. 

He didn’t think he would ever be better. 

But he could try. 

“George...,” Dream said, voice quiet, “Would you... Would you help me make some graves? I can’t... I can’t just leave....” 

George’s face softened, and even though he didn’t smile, it was a close thing. 

“Sure, Dream,” he said, “Sure.” 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

They say, if you look hard enough, that you can find a large graveyard in the neutral territories. In the center, stuck deep into the earth, is an old sword. There are rumors that it was Dream’s, from back when he fought on the front lines. Back before he tried his best to keep his kingdom out of war. 

And sometimes, they say, you might even find Dream himself there, leaning against a grave without his mask on.


	6. Wilbur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Just wanted to say, there’s this song on YouTube called Let It Burn or something similar that’s from Wilbur’s POV and I’ve been listening to it nonstop while writing this. Go check it out if you haven’t already and show the artist some love!

He’d won. 

He’d done it— He’d done it, he’d won!

Wilbur staggered through the remains of Manberg, grin plastered on his face. He ran a hand over a half collapsed building, euphoria threatening to knock him off of his feet. 

He’d— The plan had worked! 

Even with Techno leaving, the traitor (—I’ll help you, Wilbur, I’m here for the chaos. I don’t care about some brat—) even with Tubbo betraying him, (—Because Schlatt and I... We’ll make things better—) he’d done it. He’d overcome. 

Even with Tommy— 

Wilbur faltered. 

Tommy— Tommy was so stupid. 

Such a stupid kid. 

(—rubble, Tubbo, Tommy with a smile on his face, blood, blood, blood—) 

Wilbur blinked, forcing the images away. Dream had— had taken care of that. 

There were no more corpses (—no more ghosts—) to torment him now, as he walked through L’Manberg. He had free reign of every inch of land. 

The new walls he’d built (—much sturdier than before, he was safe, no one could get in—) loomed from far in the distance. Wilbur felt a swell of pride every time he caught a glimpse of them. 

This was what he’d fought (—killed, oh god, he’d killed so many—) for. 

Freedom. 

Wasn’t he so, so free? 

Wilbur surveyed the land. His land. (—he was the president of this fine new kingdom, with his son and right hand man at his side—) All of the gaping holes left over from the tnt had been carefully patched up, leaving only scars of grassless land. 

The buildings were still collapsed, still shells of what they’d once been. 

Wilbur wondered what he should do first. (—Should he have everyone vote? That seemed fair, even though he knew he’d get re-elected—) 

He rebuilt. 

He changed the flag back to the vibrant colors it’d been before Schlatt’s rule. It flew in the very middle of L’Manberg, high and proud. (—Tommy cheered at his side, admiring the craftsmanship—) 

He didn’t keep track of the time, but he was sure it must have been weeks. He hardly slept, too busy finding materials, or clearing old rubble away. Filling the few gaping holes that his tnt had left behind, one’s he’d missed early on. He ate as he worked, never allowing himself to stop. It was too important. 

He ignored the blood and ash, covering it up with wood and stone. 

He built until every building that had once stood in L’Manberg stood again, with no trace of Manberg in sight. 

There was no one to fill the buildings. No one to make potions to fill chests, or craft armor to hide in random underground bunkers. There was no one to fill L’Manberg with noise, like it always had been. (—Tommy yelling from far off, Fundy sarcastically making fox noises from another room—) 

Wilbur smiled. 

He had what he wanted. 

No one but him had L’Manberg now. It was his to do what he wanted with. It was his to rule, his to build. (—his to haunt—) 

No one could take it away from him ever again. 

He built larger walls. Again. 

Better walls, with traps on every inch and lava trenches. They were higher too, and it’d taken him so, so long to build it. It was a masterpiece. 

He didn’t build gates. 

He’d done it. He’d finally done it. 

He’d won. 

(—Tommy would’ve loved it—)

Wilbur hesitated. He looked down at his hands. They were covered in blood, his nails chipped and torn. Callouses he’d never had before (—he’d always been a man of words—) covered his palms, rough and ugly. 

It was so quiet. 

Why was it so quiet? (—it shouldn’t be, it shouldn’t, why had he done it?—) 

Wilbur was alone. But at least he was free. (—Right?—) 

/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/—/-/-/

And L’Manberg stood tall, hollow and empty (—and free—).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it’s done! Thank you so much for reading!


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